


Scène D'Amour

by vanderloo



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Will Graham, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanderloo/pseuds/vanderloo
Summary: “You don’t have to hide yourself, Will,” Hannibal says, calm and very serious, “not with me.”Will knows that; he does. Hannibal may be the only person he can truly be himself around, the only person who understands Will and the only person who ever will understand him. Their time is numbered, limited, and ticking away with every touch and every breath that brings them closer together.--Will and Hannibal share a moment in the moonlight in Hannibal's office.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Work title translation: Scène D'Amour - Love Scene

* * *

  **Love Scene**  
_Scène D'Amour_

* * *

 

“You don’t have to hide yourself, Will,” Hannibal says, calm and very serious, “not with me.”

Will knows that; he does. Hannibal may be the only person he can truly be himself around, the only person who understands Will and the only person who ever will understand him. Their time is numbered, limited, and ticking away with every touch and every breath that brings them closer together. Will can’t look back now, no matter how much he has tried to squirm and tear and break at the chains linking him to Hannibal, but now is not the time to fight. The time for fighting has come and gone and it is a battle in which Will has accepted defeat. Hannibal has and will always be victorious in the act of persuasion and Will is sure he is not the only one to be tangled in his web of lies and whispered, gentle nothings. Or were they somethings? Everything is a riddle with Hannibal; everything has to be deduced and analysed, nothing can be simple, and it is partly what drew Will to him in the first place. Yet now, in the deafening quiet of the appointment room, Will wouldn’t have it any other way. Looking at the other man has turned into looking at a mirror; perhaps for Hannibal it is like looking at a painting. A dry and damaged, but intricate painting by his own hand. His own design. Will Graham, sculpted by a cannibal into whoever he wants. It makes Will hate himself.

“Easier said than done,” Will remarks as he swirls a tasteful red wine around in his glass, standing with his back to the other man and peering at the book collection decorating the walls of the office. Remarkable was definitely a word to describe Lecter’s taste in, well, everything.

“Is it?” Hannibal asks, sounding confident. Will cannot hear the other man advance toward him but he can feel his presence, and that is enough to increase his heart rate. Hannibal can definitely smell the fear on him, and that thought doesn’t ease Will’s anxiety.

Will brings the glass to his lips and finishes his wine in one swift movement, thankful for his back being turned away from the other man. He turns his head slightly so he can observe Hannibal in his peripheral, “As if it would make much of a difference,” he pauses, “For nothing is hidden, that will not be revealed; nor anything secret, that will not be known and come to light.”

There is a moment of silence as Will’s biblical quote hangs in the air, until Hannibal moves forward until he is standing behind the other man, slightly to the left. “Religious words for a man who does not believe in God.”

Will exhales, allowing his silence to suffice as his answer. Without a further word, Lecter takes the empty wine glass from Will’s hand and places it delicately on the desk. Will watches him now, finally making eye contact after what feels like an eternity. Hannibal seems different somehow; calmer and less intimidating. Maybe it is because he and Will are finally, finally on the same wavelength. No more secrets and no more lies -- for the most part -- float between them and threaten to break their bond, if it can be broken. Whatever they have between one another is enough to keep Will on his toes and him coming back for more. The intriguing part is Hannibal’s willingness to keep inviting Will inside; both into his office and into his mind. In small doses, for Will does not think he can handle larger doses.

Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, Will reaches forwards and fingers a book he has been eyeing for a few moments. An old book, obviously antique and extortionate like everything else in Hannibal’s collection. The front reads in old script:

>   **Catullus, Gaius Valerius**

Will runs an absent finger along the writing, admiring the gracious script. Such a book should not come as a surprise to Will, and it doesn’t. Hannibal has extensive tastes in most things, and poetry should not be any different. Will studied Catullus poetry in college, which feels like a thousand years ago now as he stands with a killer and exchanges pleasantries. Clearly college was not big on educating students to not socialise with murderous sociopaths.

“A remarkable choice,” Hannibal notes, a small smile on his lips, “Though not recommended if you were intent on some light reading.”

Will smiles, small but honest, and carefully opens the book on no page in particular. Reading the first few lines, he exhales a small amount before searching for an excerpt, “'I willingly inhabit your suburban villa, and shake off a bad bronchial cough, given to me by a stomach chill, my own fault.'”

“Forty-four.” Hannibal answers instantly, having already known the quote from the poem, “I have owned that book for many years.”

Will looks up at Hannibal for a short moment, then returns his eyes to the book before him, flicking forward some pages and searching for a new excerpt, “'I hate and love. And why, perhaps you’ll ask. I don’t know: but I feel, and I’m tormented.'”

“An interesting choice,” Hannibal responds, notably considering the poem that Will had read before him. It was not a coincidence that he had read this one, but finding out if the older man would catch on was too much of a temptation to resist. “Eighty-five. May I?”

Will hands the book to the other man gingerly, feeling a soft pang of annoyance at being beaten by Hannibal. His narcissistic tendencies are not an attractive trait, he notes, but cannot be avoided. Will watches the older man intently as he gently changes page after page, locating a challenge for Will. Behind Hannibal the fireplace crackles calmly and illuminates their faces in a way that daylight cannot. Will’s fingers clench and unclench in self restraint. Restraint for what, he isn’t sure he is willing to find out.

“'But my tongue is numbed, and through my poor limbs, fires are raging, the echo of your voice rings in both ears, my eyes are covered with the dark of night'.” Hannibal reads the text as though he is engaged in a deep conversation, full of meaning and emotion. A true artist, Will thinks.

“Fifty-one.” Will responds, “For Lesbia.”

Hannibal smiles softly and closes the book, “It’s not often I come across someone who can recognise Catullus.”

“Not many people have a book of his in their collection,” Will responds, enjoying the intellectual conversation he is able to have with the man before him. Turning Hannibal into Jack would have been the most difficult, and most ego enhancing, act of Will’s life; he would lose the one person he ever felt truly close to, truly responsible for. Hannibal means something to Will, and it is a terrifying thought.

A gentle hand on his shoulder brings Will out of his thoughts. It creates an even pressure which sends a calming energy throughout Will’s entire body. Hannibal looks at the younger man with intent. Will instinctively leans forward, hands by his side, into Hannibal’s touch, all the while cursing himself for letting this happen. Letting someone control him the way Hannibal does. For the first time since he has known the man, Hannibal looks unsure of himself for the briefest of moments; missable by the untrained eye, but not by Will. Hannibal’s hand slides from Will’s shoulder to the curve of his neck, then ascends to his cheek. Surprisingly soft hands, Will notes, though callouses are unavoidable in Hannibal’s line of work. Killing, maiming and consuming will do that.

“Never could I be satisfied or sated,” Hannibal quotes quietly, running his thumb along Will’s bottom lip. Will’s lips part on their own accord, mostly in surprise and suspense of the moment, his right hand risen and clutching at Hannibal’s suit jacket. “Although the total of our oscillations were greater than the crop’s ripe ears of wheat.”

Will swallows as he recognises the poem, “Forty-eight.”

Hannibal smiles and Will feels his heart rate increase. His breath hitches as the other man leans forwards and presses their lips together, setting Will’s mind a blaze.

**Author's Note:**

> Gaius Valerius Catellus was a famous Roman historian and poet. His poetry quoted in this works are: His Estate, Love-Hate, An Immitation of Sappho: To Lesbia, and Passion: to Iuventius. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this very, very short work I wrote a long time ago, back when Hannibal was still airing. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
